Friday Night
by Madblossom
Summary: Typical Friday night. Except there are sandwiches, and Dean's crying. Plotless and pointless, enjoy!


It's Friday night. While most men their age are either reading bedtime stories to their young children, or getting ready for a night in the bars with some buddies, Sam and Dean's plans include take out, beer, and dusty books. Which is pretty much their plans every night, unless they're on a hunt, or, you know, saving the world from certain doom.

It's Sam's turn to grab the food. He's deviating from the usual Friday night fare, opting for sandwiches from the new place that opened up last week across the road from the the Lebanon Biggerson's - turkey on rye with mustard for him, and deep-fried pepperoni with marinara sauce on ciabatta for Dean. He hopes Dean won't complain too much, given the rigid take out schedule Dean has developed in honour of his current obsession with The Big Bang Theory. " _It's Friday, Sam, we always have Thai food from Thai-No-Mite on Fridays_ ", Sam rolls his eyes in anticipation of Dean's protests.

Sam enters the bunker and sets the food down on the kitchen counter. Usually Dean's waiting for him, especially when Sam is accompanied by dinner. " _Dean_?", Sam yells, " _food's here_!" No answer. Strange.

Not so strange that Sam doesn't start eating. His sandwich is magnificent. Hand-carved, slow-roasted turkey, with a hint of rosemary lingering on the crispy skin on each slice. He wishes he purchased two for himself, and eyes Dean's greasy meal with curiosity. If that sandwich is as good as the turkey, Dean will be in rapture. Sam considers taking a bite, but changes his mind quickly since it's more than likely that if he starts eating it and it's as good as he expects it will be, Dean might end up with no sandwich at all... and Sam's not willing to push that particular button.

Okay, better find Dean before sandwich lust overtakes him. " _Dean_?", Sam calls again, and again, no answer. Sam tries to remember if Dean had any other plans, but can't think of anything that his brother might be doing that would take him out of earshot, out of the bunker, or make him ignore Sam's shouts. Oh, maybe one thing... Sam doesn't really want to interrupt Dean if he's taking a study break to watch porn. Nope, Dean can find his own sandwich when he's finished... and, Sam hopes, has washed his hands.

Sam passes the large table where they usually do their research and grabs a book. He figures he can read just as well while sitting in one of the plush leather chairs in the bunker's lounge, a nice treat for a Friday night. He turns the corner into the lounge and stops dead in his tracks.

Dean is sitting on the sofa, and he's crying. _Dean. Is crying_.

Sam takes a few steps back, out of the room, and tries to evaluate the situation. He's seen Dean cry before, not often though, and definitely not like this. Dean's tears are typically singular affairs: a small trail of salt water sliding down a stoic face, usually following a heartbreaking tragedy, like when Charlie... No, don't think about that, Sam tells himself. Dean's tears are not usually like this at all. Dean is not just crying, but sobbing. Deep, visceral sobs. He's clutching one of the sofa cushions, and rocking back and forth. Tears are coursing down his cheeks, and his mouth is open, letting out tiny whimpers amidst soundless screams.

" _Fuck_ ", Sam mutters quietly to himself, " _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_ ". He doesn't know what to do. This is way beyond what he's ever had to do for Dean, he doesn't even know if his brother will want him to try and help, let alone see him this way. Dean is the tough brother, the one who can handle the big stuff without batting an eye. Just last week, Sam saw his brother pull a three-inch razor-sharp bandersnatch claw out of his own calf muscle, then stitch the gaping wound closed with only an occasional grunt of discomfort. Sam could have helped with that one with confidence, he's great at fixing bloody flesh wounds, but this... this is disturbing to the point where Sam actually feels a lick of fear. He honestly doesn't know what to do.

So, of course, he says the first thing that comes to mind, " _Dude, are you crying_?"

Then wants to kick himself. Dean's clearly hurting, and he sounds like a judgmental ass. Unless, that's what Dean needs right now? Fuck, why doesn't he know anything about how to comfort a crying person? Seriously, it's not like he hasn't had a tearful girlfriend on occasion, and he's had some experience with crying kids, but Dean... None of those has prepared him one bit for seeing Dean like this.

The worst part is, that Dean doesn't react to him in the way that Sam expects. He figured that Dean would wipe his nose and pretend like he wasn't just bawling like an infant, or at least pretend that it's no big deal. He doesn't do either of these things; he looks up at Sam with wide red-rimmed eyes, contorts his face into the most terrifying expression that Sam has ever seen on his brother, and lets out a choking wail. The look on Dean's face makes Sam's stomach clench. He tentatively takes a step towards his brother.

" _Um, you okay, Dean_?" Sam gives himself another inward kick. Clearly Dean is not okay.

Sam takes another step in Dean's direction, saying, " _I got you a sandwich_ ".

' _Stupidstupidstupid_ ', Sam thinks to himself. This is not a problem that can be fixed with food. Fuck, he doesn't even know what the problem is - maybe that wasn't the stupidest thing in the universe to say, maybe it is a sandwich-fixable issue? Not likely, but it's possible, right?

Where the fuck is Cas when you need him? Cas could do his angely-heal-'em-up routine and make this better in no time. Except Cas hasn't been seen in weeks, off tending to some Claire drama after Jody reported that she hadn't seen the girl in a few days. Nothing serious, just boyfriend trouble, but Cas wants to be sure. Sam's pretty sure that Dean would melt into Cas' arms, and be back to his usual not-sobbing self with just a caring touch from the angel.

Sam sits awkwardly beside Dean, and hesitates before putting his hand on his brother's back. " _It's okay Dean_ ", he says. He pats Dean's back lightly. " _It's okay_ ", he repeats again and again, as much to soothe himself as to comfort his brother. There's absolutely nothing okay with this situation.

Dean doesn't acknowledge his brother's touch. He doesn't lean in to Sam for a hug. He continues to rock back and forth, clutching the sofa cushion. He's still crying, but maybe, Sam thinks, a little less?

Sam continues to mutter " _It's okay_ ", in what he hopes is a soothing tone, and switches from back pats to rubbing little circles between Dean's shoulder blades. Yeah, Dean's definitely not crying as hard now.

' _This is torture_ ', thinks Sam, then another inner kick. Dean's got the worst of this right now. Whatever Sam's feeling - awkward, worried, and he'll admit it, a little frustrated with the slow progress of this comforting business, is nothing compared to what Dean must be going through. He sighs, and continues his back-rubbing procedure.

Eventually, Dean stops rocking. His breathing becomes a little less hitched. He looks exhausted. " _Sorry 'bout that Sam_ ", he says in a husky voice, " _it all just kind of hit me, all of it, all at once: Charlie... the Mark... Purgatory... the Trials... Kevin... Bobby_...", he trails off. " _I'm good now, thanks_ ". A brief pause. " _Did you say sandwiches? It's Friday Sam..._ "

" _We always have Thai food from Thai-No-Mite on Fridays_ ", Sam finishes for him, and laughs. Dean's okay, or at least as okay as they ever are, at least for now. He'll take it.

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 **Author's note** : Takes place sometime after season 10, but without speculation about how 'The Darkness' will change their lives. For this story, The Darkness is irrelevant, let's just pretend it doesn't exist, okay?

Thanks for reading!

XxXx


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